


Atrium Principis Peccatorum

by vampgirltish



Category: VIXX
Genre: Fantasy AU, M/M, Sins, assigned professions, i dont know what this is gjsbgfdg, i guess ??????? IDK!, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 19:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12139704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampgirltish/pseuds/vampgirltish
Summary: He doesn’t remember how he got this profession, if that was even the right word. He also doesn’t remember where his name came from. He doesn’t remember much of anything. He just knew his parents and his siblings told him stories of how people were chosen for certain professions, that they’d be told what they are the moment they turned eighteen. He remembered only parts of the ceremony. The whole thing had felt like a dream.





	Atrium Principis Peccatorum

He doesn’t remember how he got this profession, if that was even the right word. He also doesn’t remember where his name came from. He doesn’t remember much of anything. He just knew his parents and his siblings told him stories of how people were chosen for certain professions, that they’d be told what they are the moment they turned eighteen. He remembered only parts of the ceremony. The whole thing had felt like a dream.

“ _Cha Hakyeon.”_

_He walked forward, facing the figures with their dark curtained cloaks and their soulless, solid blue-green eyes. The color reminded him of sea glass, of angry storming waters, of a tidal wave crashing, of a monsoon, of—_

_“Your profession, Cha Hakyeon. Present.”_

_He hadn’t gotten it yet, because he hadn’t presented. He pulls the coat of off himself, standing there in his simple clothes that he was given. A beige canvas material pair of pants, and a thin white shirt._

_“Offer.”_

_Offer… Right, right. Offer. He reaches to his pockets and the cloaked figures hissed. Typically the offers were brought in a vessel, in a sewn silk drawstring, a fine sheepskin bag, something of worth or value, an offer in and of itself. Cha Hakyeon brought nothing of that. Just himself, and his items in his pockets. He pressed on._

He only remembers half of what he offered. He was supposed to bring five things.

_He offers the cloaked figure before him a beautiful marble that he’d found, sitting on the side of the road abandoned from some children after they’d failed to pick it up. He waited awhile before taking it, hoping they’d come back to take it. It was such a pretty marble after all, clear glass flecked with yellows and purples._

_“Theft,” one of the cloaked figures chastises. “That belonged to someone else.”_

_It had, but it was his now, wasn’t it, he thinks to himself._

_“That isn’t the best example to present, Cha Hakyeon.”_

_He sighs to himself, but says nothing._

_He offers next a candle, one he’d made himself. It smelled like sandalwood and with hints of rose and vanilla. The label was written by him, each letter carefully formed. He drew a border around the outside, drawing a flower and some swirls._

_“A good choice, albeit childish design,” the cloaked figure says._

_Better results, but still not promising._

_He pulls his third item, the only other one he can remember._

_A thin, black piece of lace. He’d worn it as a blindfold for some of the dances he had done in the past. The blindfold impressed the people, and it looked pretty._

_“Lace,” the figure comments. “That will contribute greatly.”_

He couldn't remember the other two things he offered, but he supposed they somehow contributed to where he was now. He doesn’t know why he was put here; why him? Why him, why him, why him…

_“Incubus.”_

_What?_

_That was their decision._

_“Cha Hakyeon, from this day onwards, your profession has been decided. You are an incubus.”_

_Was that what the fates wanted for him?_

_A door opened to his right, the door a dark red and the curtains a velvet black. The figures said nothing more, just watched him scoop up his coat unsurely and walk through the door. He passed the bright yellow door of artists, the ornate blue door of musicians, the brown door of the practitioners. Headed towards the red door… the one nobody seemed to talk about._

_He goes down metal stairs, his feet clanging against them. His things would be sent here later, so he didn’t have them. A part of him wished he did, wished he had something to cling to from the past._

_“People don’t come back from the red door,” he’d heard a friend say. “Nobody knows why.”_

_Why was he sent here?_

_Why was he an incubus?_

_As he kept traveling further down these stairs, the humidity rose. The room seemed to feel thick with heat, and smelled thick with sexuality. He reaches the bottom of the stairs to a landing of black wood and red velvet. Looking around, he realizes where he is._

_Atrium Principis Peccatorum._

_The Palace of Sins._

_Was he a sinner?_

_Did he belong here?_

_The first person he meets is a girl with long, dark hair. Her smile is sweet, contrasting with the energy in the room and the area that seemed to be full of danger._

_“Are you the newest?”_

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen that girl after his first day. What happened to her? He was so scared when he first came here, and now it was just his job. He didn’t love it, but… it was what he was assigned to do. Job changes were rare, and often hard to come by. 

_“Yes.”_

_“What assignment?”_

_“I-Incubus.”_

_“Ah…” she says. “You’ll do well.” She gave him a look over that made him both uncomfortable and flattered. “If you keep your skin that smooth, people will call for you fairly often. Follow me.”_

_Her comments felt uncomfortably unnecessary. For as hard as he worked to keep his skin smooth, he now hoped it would turn ugly so that people wouldn’t ask him to do these things. They walk together, side-by-side down a bricked hall. Everything here was red, black, gold. Everything felt thick and heavy, drowsy and lazed. As if there were all the time in the world. Perhaps in the Palace of Sins there was all the time in the world._

_They reach the atrium, it seemed, of the building. Several hallways branched from here. Seven of them. She continues down the red hall, away from ones of other colors. He finds himself craving the other colors._

_Please, please please take me away from the color red, let me pick again. But fates had decided, and he had no say now._

_The girl stops in front of a door. It was white, with thin lettering on the door, almost too small to read. ‘Luxuria.’_

_Lust. That’s where he was headed. Luxuria, lust, luxuria, lust._

_His parents would refuse to call him their son anymore, now._

He didn’t do much else that first day besides be scared out of his mind and afraid of everyone. Everyone who radiated sexuality, had sin on their smiles and whose eyes told pretty little lies and ugly truths. He swore he’d never be like them, he and his friends all swore not to be like their counterparts. But sometimes they had to pretend. Sometimes they had to be. The examinations forced that on them.

His group of friends was a group of misfits. None of them wanted to be told their professions were in the Palace of Sins. But they were here, and they were together. The six of them.

Taekwoon was a man who had the looks for Luxuria, but he recalls that he got sorted here because he presented ‘the items of a lazy boy,’ so said the cloaked figures. Not that that was entirely what Acedia was, but Taekwoon admitted even still that he’d rather have gone through the blue door upstairs than here. Hakyeon could agree with that, since Taekwoon had a fantastic voice, and a lot of passion.

Wonshik was the opposite of where he was placed, but he was put here because the endeavors he worked hard on were successful. Being placed into Avaritia broke his heart. He retold his ceremony, talking about how he wept as they spoke to him, sentencing him to a life of being seen as a thief and a miser. He wanted to go through the beautiful lavender door upstairs, the one for writers and languages.

Hongbin hated his the most, it seemed. All his life people lauded him for his smile, his dimples, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. But they didn’t care, didn't seem to know about his love for photography, his love of playing guitar and singing, his love of… things that weren’t his physical appearance. The figures upstairs seemed to be like the others as they put him in Vanagloria. Every time he saw himself in the mirror, he hated himself. His face, the looks he was born with, cursed him to the life he didn’t want. All he wanted was the pink door upstairs for film and photography.

Jaehwan was proud of himself, but not boastful like the rest of those in his area. He was confident, smart, funny, and he had no problem being loud. For some reason, the figures upstairs took that to mean he belonged in Superbia. He hated it there. It was full of those who bragged and cared little for others, something he wasn’t. Jaehwan was proud of himself, but he was more proud of his friends. He wished for the yellow door for artists.

And Sanghyuk was strong, tough, and incessantly a brat. But he had a heart, and he knew when to stop. He knew when it was time to fight and time to play. He knew when things were getting out of hand. But simply because he was strong, simply because he was tall, simply because he brought his fucking trophy from his first competition in wrestling with him. They put him into Ira even though he hated fighting unless it was for sport or to protect his friends. He longed for the green door for the sciences.

And Hakyeon? Hakyeon, at this point, would have taken anything except for Luxuria, but life didn’t work that way. He wished he could have the dark blue door upstairs, the one for social work, the one for psychology, the one that would let him help others, the one that would let him _not be here, god why am I here…_

But this is where he was, and he couldn’t go back now. 

**Author's Note:**

> i already am sorry for this. idk what it is, i just... came up with it


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